The Happy Potato
by jinglebellsisawesome
Summary: ANH AU: The Force transports Kylo Ren thirty years in the past to guide him along the path he was always meant to tread. "You have great power in you, my friend, but so full of fire and anguish and pain," he muses; "I have seen your face before." FatherSon fix-it. Time travel.
1. Prologue

The Happy Potato

Prologue

* * *

The snowy frosts of Starkiller Base bite coolly into the fleshy wounds of the fallen man laying haphazardly amongst the snow, limbs sprawled. The cold nips mercilessly at his frozen skin, leaving tender wounds sure to scar. The battered man dares open his clenched eyes but to no avail: the strong winds force them shut the second his vision returned.

The groan that escapes past his frozen lips is muffled. Unrecognisable for what it truly was. The flaming fury that accompanied his action burns with heated passion as the defeated feeling of hopelessness creeps up behind him and strangles him.

 _How could you let this happen?_ he berates himself as his wounds begin to sting from the frostbite. _How could a girl who has only just learnt how to baby step her way into the Force possibly defeat you?_ The truthfulness of this statement leaves a sour trace in his mouth he cannot rid.

Darth Vader would never have let this happen.

This shocks him into stunned silence. The honesty hidden behind the cruel mockery is enough to fan the flames of anger he can feel rising within him but he manages to temper it.

" _Your anger and lust for power have already done that."_

It was his anger and lust for power that had driven him to his current predicament after he allowed his arrogant pride to surface once the traitor Stormtrooper had been successfully taken care of and he challenged the girl to a duel in which she had no choice but to accept.

And accept it she did. The pain she dealt him stung full force even after the fissure cracked through them, severing their fight. But nothing could compare with the struggle of his defeat.

He didn't know how this could have happened. He should have been stronger than ever; the Dark Side is strong within him and the call to the Light Side already broken the moment he buried his lightsaber half up Han Solo's back.

Han. That was another slight against him. Han Solo. The man responsible for tainting his true power with the blessed light of justice and almost single-handedly damning him with his belief in benevolence and mercy and love. _Pointless. Childish_. Wrong.

What good does love do you when you're wounded in battle? How can love protect you from the ones intent on harming you? Darth Vader himself loved another more fiercely than even himself - back in a time wherein Anakin Skywalker roamed the galaxy at the Jedi's beck and call. That love only grew for one Senator Amidala as two more were granted his love in a moment of spontaneous joy and euphoria.

" _No. No. It's because I'm so in love with you._ "

It was his love for his one and only son that redeemed the Sith Lord - and murdered him all the same.

If love was deemed to be so good, so sweet and pure and wholly without fault, then why did it take lives without mercy? If Darth Vader did not love then he would never have died. Simple. The pitiful rebels would either have to adapt to that or die.

(Of course, if the almighty dark lord never loved then he himself would never have been born but he decides to ignore that little speck of information in favour of campaigning his fool proof view on the matter).

That was why he had always admired General Leia Organa - before she aligned herself with the Resistance following the decimation of her precious New Republic, that is. She never allowed her heart to rule her head; she was a woman of value. Smart. Disciplined. Strong of will and of mind. He almost found himself honoured to be carrying the same blood as the Force-wielding princess.

 _Almost_. Her decision in allying herself to the latest rebel alliance perished any notion of gratitude he possessed in regards to his biological mother. Han Solo was just another reason for his change in heart. Any woman of self-respecting stance would not choose to settle with a rugged ex-smuggler. Not to mention his apparent lack of the required midi-chlorians to control the Force. If it was just down to Han Solo and his inferior gene pool, he often wondered how strangely placid and simple his life would have been.

A shifting of icy limbs causes a rippling pain to shoot up his spine, cutting off his internal monologue. His back arches with the contusions and his eyes squeeze as he struggles to reign in his composure. _That ended that_ he concludes with a wry glint.

Ah, now, irony. That was something he had learnt over the numerous years being privy to his old parents and their humorously different conversations. Irony. How ironic it was that the man who took pleasure in breaking the rules would end up with the woman who enforced them?

" _A princess and a guy like me?_ "

It was almost as ironic as the tale of his naming. Naming your one and only son after a mischievous Jedi too weak to face up to the might that was his Grandfather. Ben Kenobi had been the one to bring the two star-crossed lovers from the furthest reaches of the galaxy just as Ben Solo was destined to rip them apart and disperse the remnants of their shattered relationship throughout the universe.

" _Ben. Ben. What's Daddy got? Ben. Ben..._ "

Ben. No, that's not his name. Ren, yes, that's it. Ren. Kylo Ren: Master of the Knights of Ren. The undefeated. The undefeat _able_. Not that that's strictly true now considering the turn of events leading up to his being wounded.

The breeze whips past him in a flurry but he barely registers the sting. The pain is gone and he is left with the startling realisation that perhaps this truly is the end for him. No one is coming to help him. The Dark Side has long since abandoned him in this frigid wasteland ever since the moment the little scavenger girl from Jakku took hold of the ancient lightsaber and danced, head held high.

 _So this is how I die: cold, abandoned, alone._

But he's not alone - no, never. The Force is always with him. Always. He can feel the security blanket warm him up and he smiles despite himself as he lets go and allows his tired and bruised soul to succumb to the awaiting darkness where he belonged.


	2. Chapter I

Hello to one and all! I hope you all had a good Christmas and a happy new year to you all! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed or favourite or followed this story. I am absolutely floored by the response. Thank you all so much. And, since a couple of you have asked, there is a reason why this story is titled _The Happy Potato_ which we all find out once the plot begins to pan out.

I do not own anything related to the _Star Wars_ franchise and I do not make any profit from this story. I am just a huge, massive fan of the films and saga and so decided to finally write a story dedicated to it.

I hope you all enjoy this next instalment!

* * *

Chapter I.

* * *

When Kylo Ren took the first of many steps in reclaiming his long-identity and becoming the hero he was destined to become, he awoke to the sound of distorted chatter and an unexpected sight that had not graced his sore eyes since before Han Solo's death.

The _Millennium Falcon_ was as graceful as it was reliable and the injured man found that it was in the exact same condition as it had been when his acclaimed First Order captured and detained it. Although, he absentmindedly noted for future reference, the prize ship was far more furnished than it had been upon presentation previously. The once infallible ship widely renowned for making the Kessel Run in "less than twelve parsecs" had been, at once stage, the centrepiece in Ben Solo's young life and he prided himself on being one of the lucky few that had the magnificence that was his Father's ship right, for lack of a better term, on his very doorstep.

But then he grew older and Ben Solo grew up and Kylo Ren happened and the ship was painted in a negative light from then on. However, no matter how old his age or the name he gifted himself, his childhood nostalgia never really went far away.

He shook himself from his inward musings with a disgruntled sneer. They were but the weak-minded thoughts of Ben Solo infiltrating his mind and interfering with his strategic planning. He was being Ben Solo when Kylo Ren was required. He could not be two people at once; he could not afford it.

 _Where am I?_ It was Kylo Ren's observations taking logical point now, having deftly sealed his previous self in the proverbial little black box to stop his imminent and daring escape. _Why am here? Is this the First Order or the Resistance I am in the company of?_

Logically, he found that the odds of the _Millennium Falcon_ \- the deceased Han Solo's pride and joy - being in the watchful hands of the First Order were slim at best. The little beast that never failed to accompany the ex-smuggler had been left upon Starkiller Base along, unguarded and on a rampant rampage after having wounded the Sith-in-training. It would be more likely that this was now a Resistance fighter once more; taking up arms against the "evil" of the galaxy to perish the oppression of the Sith again.

Kylo Ren would have snorted would the action not tear at his wounds. The Jedi Order had believed the Sith had been eliminated from the galaxy; they were proved wrong when Emperor Palpatine and Darth Vader arrived on the scene. The New Republic and old Rebel Alliance had believed the Sith were now gone forever; they were proved wrong when both Supreme Leader Snoke and himself arrived on the scene. He sensed a recurring theme running along these beliefs. You cannot have one extreme without the other - the toss of a coin: heads or tails.

However, one pressing issue relating to the ship he was currently flying on pressed incessantly on his mind. The last time he had caught sight of Solo's pride and joy he had been noticeably alone.

And, judging by the raised voices and blurred arguments, he was positively certain the case was not true in this situation.

"...thought you said you two and those crazy robots of yours were the only ones..."

"As did I."

A pointed scoff. A roll of the eyes. Kylo Ren studied human behaviour vigorously during his training; he was confident in his knowledge of human attitude.

"Sure you did, old man. I have the utmost confidence in ya." Sarcasm dripped venomously with every syllable.

Scrapping of a chair. Enraged outcry to the contrary: "Don't snap at Uncle Ben, it wasn't his fault some stranger decided to pop up for a friendly visit," he huffed, "nor mine neither."

 _Some...stranger?_

It took a frighteningly long moment for the turned Jedi to acknowledge they were referring to none other than him. He must have been out of practice.

To tell the truth, he felt almost _honoured_ to have been occupying so much of the three men's - for it was, beyond a shadow of a doubt, three men present in the room, of that he was positive, he wasn't so slow as significantly impede his judgement - time and energy. Time and energy that would have proven better suited to more trivial tasks.

Except he wasn't.

Because he recognised the voices.

But surely that was impossible. Surely it could not be them. _Han_. Surely it was an illusion; it had to be. His brain conjuring mad, fanatical visions to simplify his passage to death and make him feel at home during his long, dark and arduous journey.

However, if this was anything to go by, then whatever the First Order or the Resistance managed to salvage from the remnants of his mind was scrambled. He would and never will consider these three common band of thieves, smugglers and rebels family nor the ship a home. For how could he care about the very people who betrayed him so murderously?

Which is why Kylo Ren made the relatively wise decision to keep very, very still and did not stir once. He doubted the viability of the identities of the men present for how could one who was dead breathe life into his soul? That was, of course, if Han Solo was deemed worthy of one. With little choice but to comply with his theory, he simply stayed put and allowed the drama to play out and unfurl, revealing its true intentions.

"I believe it is best if we all calm down. Everyone is confused and understandably so. But placing blame is not our job here." A pause. Ragged breathing. Tense stances. Eyes narrowed dangerously. Kylo could hear it all, like an audio on replay in his head.

Footsteps broke the standoff: angry and heavy and demanding. Only one man stalked like that. Particularly after a heated argument. He should know - he had been privy to quite a few of them in his short, young life.

"Yeah, and while you're at it, you can find out how, in all the hells I can think of, some pansy idiot manages to crash-land on to _my_ ship. Isn't that right, Chewie?"

From somehow, a distinctive Wookie growl of agreement roared down the halls. Good that, the crippling blow the Wookie dealt him had almost slipped his mind - proof over how much his injuries have affected him. Kylo could still feel the rippling pain shooting up and down his spine, setting every one of his nerves on a never-ending fire.

Revenge would be sweet and _swift_ and sudden.

"Now, what I wanna know is," Not-Han continued, edging toward the old man; the obvious brains of their operation, "how you guys know him. Don't try to convince me that you don't - you might feel others but you don't fool me. I ain't easily fooled and I ain't ever seen that look of obvious recognition pass a man's face for no apparent reason."

The Wookie roared.

"So you better tell me what the hell is going on or else I'm kicking you, your kid and your little friend here the hell outta here!"

Someone slammed their feet furiously against the cool metal grating, stomping with every fibre of their being. Kylo would have flinched had he been a lesser man. But he wasn't. And never would be.

"Hey! Don't point the finger at us like that! It wasn't our fault, I already told you, and if you can't remember that then maybe _you're_ the one about to be kicked the hell out of _here_!"

"Oh, yeah, kid? Well, then, if that's the case, how come your old man here hasn't denied that he knows the fella at least?"

His not-uncle did not provide an auditory response, thereby backing up his not-father's point to a tee.

"Go on, kid. Enlighten me."

It was at this opportune moment which presented the old Jedi a convenient entrance into the conversation he had previously ignored. Kylo had to, albeit grudgingly, hand it to the Jedi: they certainly have a flair for the dramatics.

"Yes, you're quite right, my friend," he said, his eyes and voice both elsewhere, "I have seen him before."

A snap of fingers. A triumphant smirk. A gaping mouth.

"But not in the way you might expect," he continued with a small smile dancing about the corners of his aging mouth. "I am... _familiar_ , shall we say, with him, if you will."

"Look, old man, do you know the guy or don't ya 'cause I ain't got the time to be hanging about here playing _guess what_."

His namesake smiled at the fury on the man's face. "I can feel his presence in the Force, binding his midi-chlorians together as one, much in the same fashion as I can feel your presence here beside me."

A pointed scoff. Three guesses to whom it originated.

It was Not-Luke who answered with an uncharacteristically enthusiastic joy: "Really? How? Will I be able to learn?"

"Yes, yes, yes. I am sure, in due time. Once you have trained, of course, and learnt how to manipulate the Force."

Kylo had heard this speech many times.

"And...what can you feel from him?"

A pause.

"I can sense great power in him. Enormous strength, great potential. He could be; great, that is."

"But?" Even the Master of Ren could identify the lingering clause attached to the man's - rather accurate, if he did say so himself, his strength was certainly not without merit - analysis of him.

"He is...full of fire and anguish and pain," he sighed. "Now, Luke, emotions can cloud your judgement at the best of times and his are so completely _dark_ that I truly fear for the Force if he was left to tamper with it."

"Why?"

"Because I have seen his face before. It is one I recognise. It belonged to another."

Not-Han sneered. "Great. So you guys do know him! Anything else I should know, considering that I am your only ride and all?"

Old Ben Kenobi took in a deep breath, breathing in the Force, stretching and examining it to selfishly demand the answers he was determined to unveil.

"He is awake," he said at last and all eyes sharply twisted to the form of Kylo Ren.

It was Not-Han who attempted the first move, his Wookie apprentice finally emerging from the deep pits of their _Millennium Falcon_.

"Hey! Hey, you! We know you're awake. No need to try and fool us now."

"Y-yeah. Get up and face us yourself, you coward."

"Congratulations, kid."

"Really?"

"Yes, congratulations on being the first person to sound more terrified than the criminal."

"What the- _Hey_!"

Kylo Ren took this moment to stand up, doing his best to ignore the minute protests of lingering pain his limbs were crying out in, a malicious glint in his dark, dark eyes. It was times like these where the strong Force-wielder yearned for his blessed mask to conceal his identity and terrify his victims. He had concluded after numerous studies that people were more willing to negotiate terms on _his_ turf when they could not hold his true gaze - he had to be _more_ than a mere being. He had to be more.

Nevertheless, he tried his best to contort his face into a menacing tangle of evil representing the darkness he could feel swirling and shifting and adapting around him.

A warning fire of a blaster shot directly a mere hairsbreadth in front of him. He looked up. Not-Han.

"I am being very, very calm," he said; _calmly_. "I want you to know that. The reason I am being very, very calm is that I do not desire any bloodshed. The _Millennium Falcon_ is truly magnificent and I would hate to mess her up."

If Not-Han or the Wookie were shocked of his knowledge of their ship, they did not show it. He had to hand it to them. They were good.

But certainly not good enough, the impersonators they were.

The Han imitator snorted. "And who are you when you're at home?"

Kylo gritted his teeth in aggravation but refrained from letting his anger spill. He could remain in control of his own self. He could.

"But what I want you all to understand is this, it's really rather very simple: I do not like liars." Liars meant traitors meant _against him._ "And I will not tolerate them."

Not-Luke shot the old man an uneasy glance at the dark promise underlying his thinly-veiled threat.

"So let us all start at the beginning, shall we? Who are you? Who do you fight for?"

"Look, pal, I don't want any trouble, I really don't, but if you don't stop threatening me then I'll be forced to do something I probably won't regret."

In retaliation against the slight - and certainly not at all down to the remarkably similiar features this man possessed that resemble a certain notorious smuggler whom had slighted him one too many times and would no longer -, Kylo Ren held up his right hand, poised to perfection, and clenched it.

The prideful man began to choke.

"You think you're so clever, don't you, Solo? You hold yourself in such high esteem and pride yourself on your imagined self worth. Unbeaten. No one would dare challenge the almighty Han Solo and live to tell the tale." He stalked over to the oxygen-starved man and sized him up, ignoring the futile cries of his furry carpet. "Do you want me to let you in on a little secret? It's all a lie. A clever trick of the light. You fear that you will never be good enough," he whispered mockingly, "and guess what; you're right."

"Let him go!"

To say the sudden shout originating from the eldest member of their party shocked him would be an understatement - the man was so old that it was hard to believe he had any voice left in him. But the shock did not begin to compete with the sheer surprise he felt when the old wizard began to perform an accurate counterattack on his Force-choke - and a strong one at that.

 _I know who he is._

Kylo released the man with a grunt as the sheer force of the Jedi's defence rendered his attack useless. Null. Void. Han Solo gulped in sweet, glorious air in a messy pool of sprawled limbs at his feet.

Exactly as it should have been from the start.

He barely acknowledged the enraged cry of the Wookie as it tenderly cared for its dear dear friend nor the startled intakes of his former Jedi Master.

He contended himself only with the omniscient look on the old man's face. All-knowing. Benevolent - for the most part.

"Luke," the Jedi said, not breaking the stare for dominance with the Dark Side user. "Why don't you take our pilot friend here out to the med-bay. And check on our course for Alderaan while you're at it," he added as an afterthought; "I have a bad feeling we'll be arriving there shortly."

The young man appeared rather bemused at being absent for their conversation; he only wanted some answers, but he reluctantly aided their smuggler pilot to his feet. The Wookie growled at what it perceived to be a threat and all but shoved Luke off of its friend, instead opting to help the unsteady man without any further assistance. Luke shot the Jedi a concerned glance before following the pair of them out.

The silence that dusted the room was stifling but Kylo Ren would not be perturbed.


	3. Chapter II

I want to thank you all for all of your lovely comments and reviews during the long, _long_ months that I haven't updated (SO SORRY!). I really, really, really, want to thank you all. Words really do not properly convey my gratitude. Thank you.

I also want to apologise for my long, long absence. I have been bogged down with work and school and exams and life but I am here now so hopefully I can get rid of the foul, loathsome writer's block that has weighed me down and get back on track with this story. Starting with this update. I hope you all enjoy it and that it makes up for the eight months that has gone by without an update.

* * *

Chapter II.

* * *

Before Kylo Ren there was Ben Solo. An academic student: smart and brilliant - a genius, in fact. A loving son always ready to greet his parents with a loving peck on the cheek and a warm, amicable smile that grinned from ear to ear.

He was, without a doubt, a mother's son. Not that he nor his father merely tolerated one another with courteous disdain - quite the opposite actually. He and his mother were just very close. Kylo Ren would simply shrug the notion of attachment and brand it as naturally reaching out to the Force through the only medium he could find.

However, Ben Solo has another side of things. The small whimpering hint of a voice in the back of the Sith-in-training's head would say the truth: he loved his mother. Leia Organa was the one woman who held his heart in the palm of her hands. She owns a piece of him, not that Kylo Ren was aware of that fact and if he was then he was wilfully ignoring it. A small, perhaps insignificant piece of him albeit it was a piece of him nonetheless. Just as he owned a piece of her and his father too. A collective piece; a moral piece.

That piece often spoke out in the deep, dark recesses of his mind - particularly when acts originating from a lust for the Dark Side came in to play. However, that piece was small and weak. Pathetic, really, when compared to the power and force the rest of him could manipulate to his bidding. The last remnant of the boy he grew up alongside: pathetic and weak, clinging on to false hope and his family.

That was why Han Solo had to go.

Ben Solo was little more than a pathetic child clinging on to vague notions of equality and fairness and justice. _Love._ It was harsh teaching this stupid boy to become an unfeeling, robotic, masked machine - but not impossible.

And little by little did Ben Solo's misfortune become Kylo Ren's luck.

General Snoke could not have been more pleased with the results. Step by step he had transformed a lowly Jedi apprentice into an all-powerful Sith Lord.

...or he would had. Had Han Solo not gotten in the way of the data and rendered it contaminated.

The pull to the Light Side was an anomalous result that had to be quashed completely before discarded with the trash, ready to set up another experiment - and this time, make it more accurate and reliable.

The only thing standing in the way of that had been his pathetic smuggler of a father but, well, he wasn't doing much standing in the end, was he? Not with Kylo Ren's lightsabre buried deep into his chest and out his back.

When he closed his eyes, he could still see him. See Solo's brainless pleading glance as he attempted to reason with the monster his son had become - the monster _he_ drove his son to become.

And that girl, Rey; what right did she have to cry over him as she had? She didn't know him! Didn't know his utter failings as a father; didn't know how little Ben Solo stayed up all night, hoping, praying his father would return with the stupid Wookie in time to read him a bedtime story or kiss him goodnight. She wasn't there when he had to deal with the fact that his father wasn't coming back - she wasn't there when he was shipped off to his Uncle Luke as though he were a rotten vegetable. A sad, scared little potato.

She wasn't there for any of that so what did she know about any of it? All she knew was the Han Solo of legend; the ex-smuggler gone rogue that swooped in and saved the day like a knight in shining armour. She would've thought he was a hero then. And, Kylo noted, perhaps there was some truth in that. But Solo tended to have that effect on other people that weren't his only son. And the Master of the Knights of Ren was sure that only those fighting on the side of the Resistance would find Han Solo a hero.

Whereas those fighting on the side of the First Order looked up to Kylo Ren for guidance and leadership skills. Not to mention his esteemed lightsabre tricks and Force-choking.

He was revered and worshipped like some kind of _god_. Him, not Han Solo. Not Leia Organa or Luke Skywalker.

Him. And only him.

And that was worth fighting for. That feeling of acceptance and belonging. Because without it, who else was he?

Nothing.

Because where Kylo Ren was feared, Ben Solo was adored. Where Kylo Ren was strong and unyielding, Ben Solo was sympathetic and shy. Where Ben Solo learned from his mistakes and used his newfound knowledge and skills for good, Kylo Ren abused his power to suit his corrupt, ill intentions.

Kylo Ren was a mechanical monster; Ben Solo was a shy, enigmatic child.

Two sides of the same coin.

Two _very different_ sides of the same coin.

Light vs Dark. Two warring sides within him and if he just lets go; tosses the coin...

 _Who is he?_

* * *

A lesser man would have known. Known the truth that was laid out as bare as a newborn baby. The truth that living and and breathing and _analysing_ him even as he stood there, resisting the temptation to clutch his aching side in favour of composing his regal darkness. But he was not a lesser man nor would he ever be - the Force that runs within his veins ran within his Grandfather: strong; unyielding. He was _not_ a lesser man. And the truth was a mere composition of broken instruments long since forgotten.

The truth was the greatest lie of them all.

He glared at the benevolent old man opposite him. "Where am I?"

"Where are you?" the man echoed with noticeable bemusement, lifting a brow at that. "I had anticipated a little more decorum there, Ben."

Kylo Ren positively bristled.

"Furthermore," he continued feigned ignorance at the silent rage simmering away beneath the Sith Lord; "I would have thought you'd remember this place, would you not?"

 _This is a trick. A test. The girl and that troublesome Wookie flew away with it. The Resistance are tricking you._

"You're lying," was all he uttered in that low tone of his. "You're a part of the Resistance. This is designed to test me. Trick me. Whatever- I'm not falling for it."

"Is it?" His voice portrayed his earlier amusement and it irked him considerably. He suspected he knew that. He was playing it to his advantage, deliberately vexing him. Why?

Kylo's eyes narrowed. "Yes."

"What, then, gave me away? Was it the robes; the voice; the sidekicks? I have been made aware those attributes of mine are highly irresistible."

Ren edged closer.

The old man kept conversing, seemingly oblivious to the tension developing between the two. "Oh, no, _wait_. Don't tell me! Was it the beard?" The mirth dancing subtly in his posture had danced its final dance. The old man got to go.

 _Now!_

"That's enough talking, old man," he growled before lunging forward, his hand instinctively reaching out to where his trusty lightsabre lay, ready to pull it out as quick and as a flash and-

Blank.

His hand came back empty. His thick mane of shadowy curls distorted his visions as his dark orbs located the area where his lightsabre should have been but there was no mistaking it. It was empty.

"Looking for something?"

 _Him_. Ren raised his head and simply glowered at his captor - _captor_ ; even that very word brought an acidic taste rising to the front of his mouth - with pure, unbridled hate.

"Who are you," he managed to grit through a clenched jaw, "Where is it? What have you done with it?"

"I'm afraid to say I'm not entirely sure what you mean by that, Mr Solo."

Ren barely managed to refrain from lunging at the foolhardy Jedi once more. The only thing stopping him from taking that action was the offended cry from the gaping wounds littering his body like a plague.

" _Don't play coy with me!"_ he snarled, placing a protective hand over his bloody wound in an effort to lessen the bleeding ever so slightly. "I know you have it. Taken it from me. You," he said, brandishing a long gloved finger at the man opposite, "are testing me. This is a test. And not one I'm willing to pass."

Using his already pointed finger, he allowed the rest of his hand to reunite with the missing digit and raised his whole hand - the hand not currently acting as a barrier between the holes in his broken body and the outside world - so it was level with old Kenobi's face, palm facing him.

"So are you going to tell me where it is or am I going to have to take it by force?"

The Jedi frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."

Ren smiled: an ugly, gnarled thing. "Force it is, then."

Focussing all what remained of his strength and stamima, he redirected his power into his raised hand before expelling it from his body. The action felt as though it were ripping through his body both physically and mentally but he would not let a few cuts and grazes from that stupid girl and the talking carpet defeat him.

He allowed the Force to flow through his body at an almost indescribable level and manipulated the small tendrils and whisps to latch on to Kenobi's mind and slowly begin to tug.

All at once, the Jedi's own Force immediately began to act as a defense; an impenetrable shield. Ren had a hard time wrenching the Light aside but all to soon the blinding white began to show signs of contamination as the shade diminished to a meek grey.

Isn't that ironic?" came the amused thought, unbidden im his mind, how even with the slightest shade the Light ceases to matter and is cast away to join the Dark?

The Master of the Knights of Ren found it was.

But the raw, untampered level of power he felt surging within him was one of the best feelings he had ever come across in his entire existence. In fact, it rendered his existence almost not worthy. For what is worthiness in comparisom to the untempered source of raw power, literally, at his fingertips?

He didn't even know this kind of power existed in this part of the galaxy - or any part, for that matter. Nothing he had ever been dealt by or he has dished out even came close to what he was experiencing at that present point in time. Snoke's guidance and teachings never covered- never accounted for _this much_ power and Ren found himself wondering why he even put up with Snoke; why he even _needed_ Snoke if he could learn _so much more_ through the Force.

Eventually, though, Kylo Ren remembered what he was supposed to do and why he was even doing this and set to work poking and prodding and picking at Obi-Wan Kenobi's brain.

However, just as he began to start tugging incessantly at the remnants of the Force, a ripping pain seared through his body with absolute agony. Kylo Ren dropped his hand and, indeed, his whole body, crumpled to the cool tiling of the floor in minute shock and horror at what just occurred.

Ren opened his mouth to spit some vile words out but quickly learnt even that small gesture moved so many aching muscles that snarled in agony. He couldn't focus on anything but the pain.

(If he was able to focus on anything but the pain he would have noticed a similar reaction in Kenobi who merely stumbled back from the sheer intensity of whatever the hell that was.)

The sensation of lithe fingers touching his clammy skin was sufficient in alerting Ren to the present. Ren initially resisted such unnecessary contact and repeated the motion to say so - albeit in a slightly more vicious manner - but what came weirdly out instead was a garbled cry of relief.

He felt himself being lifted off of the frozen flooring and on to something more comfortable. His extensive injuries thanked him gratefully for that.

Kenobi left not soon after but quickly returned carrying a wet cloth and some makeshift bandages. Was Ren in a better state of mind he would have inquired as to where the Jedi managed to acquire those items (and on the _Milenium Falcon_ no less) but he wasn't in better state of mind and so offered little resistance to the Jedi's attempts at patching him up.

"What- What was that?" he breathed as soon as he was able to. The lack of energy left in his body made the question seem innocent but the fire that burned in Kylo Ren's soul was angry.

Ben Kenobi ignored him at first and Ren assumed that the old man was hard of hearing and considered repeating himself but voted against it. (Kylo Ren did not simply repeat himself.) Eventually, however, just as he shut his eyes and gave in to his lethargic body's desire for rest, the Jedi answered:

"That should not have happened," he whispered. Ren had to strain to hear his words. "You may have compromised

everything."

Some part of the Sith revelled in that knowledge.

"He will know you're here," the Jedi continued. Ren had the feeling Kenobi presumed him unconscious and was merely speaking aloud to allow him to get his own head around...whatever it was that was so disastrous - but the feeling dissolved when Kenobi shook his shoulders roughly, jolting him awake.

"Ben," he said to the injuried man grasping the sides of his face and forcing him to look the Jedi dead in the eye, "you have to listen to me. You think you can trust him but you can't. Hes manipulating you in the same manner you and I manipulate the Force only, instead of leaving the Force when we no longer need it, he will crush you. Eliminate you."

"We're coming up on Alderaan!" Not-Han's voice informed through the speakers.

Kenobi's eyes slid shut of their own violation. "You're too late."

Something happened then; something shifted through the Force and Ren tried to keep his eyes open but fatigue struck and, with a collapsing sigh, he fainted.

* * *

A shadowy figure, clad in darkness, strode the willowy tendrils of darkness. They stopped abruptly and turned, breathing in deeply, before continuing down the trail with newfound purpose; a bounce in their step and a smirk on their lips.


End file.
